


Norwegian Blues

by Taraxacus



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Actor Isak Valtersen, Actress Vilde Hellerud, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Even Bech Næsheim and Isak Valtersen Meet Differently, Canon Compliant, Dancer Eva Mohn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Maybe - Freeform, Mental Health Issues, Multi, POV Even Bech Næsheim, Radio Host Eskild, Slow Burn, Sonja isn't Evil, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-12 20:15:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11744385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taraxacus/pseuds/Taraxacus
Summary: Even is 25, lives in Oslo, and works at a big PR company. He has been pretty down lately, and he is on the verge of doing something about it. He hasn't met Isak yet, but it will happen soon!





	1. Some Nights

**Author's Note:**

> *inspired by the terrific Norwegian novel "Harp Song" by Levi Henriksen*  
> *use of songs in this fic inspired by the amazing ao3 novel "I would do it again" by cuteandtwisted*
> 
> After reading Harp Song (translated into my language) and loving it, a whole Skam universe entered my mind, and so now I have to write about it. I am not abandoning my other project, though, if anybody has read it and is interested.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am describing therapy from the perspective of my personal experience only.
> 
> See End for more notes.

Even is tired.  
His eyes are sore. His back aches. His joints have seen better days.  
Even is 25 and yet he feels 75. Or 250.

It’s late when he leaves his office in downtown Oslo. The sky is glimmering with stars, the air is crisp and smells more like salt and sand than like cars and plastic. Only last year he would have been all over this. He would have been savoring it all, breathing it in. The beauty. The unexpected, daily beauty of an Oslo winter night.  
But today, this month, this year have been merciless. Even’s job has become insufferable, he has started to dread getting out of bed, to dread having to go to work.  
Sonja says it’s his depression rearing up its ugly head.  
\- You know how it works -, she has told him just yesterday, while they were drinking tea at the company’s canteen, - It’s just a phase. You were experiencing a high for almost a year, and now you’re down. It’s always like this. -  
\- Yeah. -  
Her words feel like a death sentence to Even, but he nods and swallows them. Sonja is always right. She knows Even better than he knows himself, and for this he should be grateful. That he has a support, a crutch for his maimed mind.  
However, lately the gratefulness towards Sonja has turned into something different. Anger. Frustration.  
\- Let’s work through these feelings, Even. Anger, frustration. -, his therapist has said yesterday evening, during their weekly meeting.  
But Even didn't feel like working through Sonja’s words, Sonja’s opinion, Sonja’s judgement.  
He’s tired of thinking that it’s all inside his head.  
He’s tired of people praising him for getting better, and yet putting him back into his place when he expresses ideas they don’t agree with, when he expresses feelings they don’t believe in.  
He’s tired of his friends constantly tiptoeing around him, as if he were a lion in a cage.  
He’s tired of his therapist who is still treating him like the 17 year old boy he was when he started his therapy, back then, after his episode at Bakka. As if being mentally ill means that one cannot grow, cannot evolve like every other human being.  
Even is tired of this therapist acting as if being mentally ill means to never get better. Just popping pills that keep the monsters at bay.

Even is tired of everything. 

The thought is scary. The last time he has felt like this, it hasn’t ended up well. He’s scared. But most of all, he’s tired.

So when Even leaves his office and walks to his car, and sits inside, and locks the doors, he doesn’t start the engine right away.  
Instead, he leans back, and closes his eyes.  
The darkness creeps in, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s soothing, as if the night were his friend. He used to dread the night: but now, today, she feels like a friend, somebody who doesn’t judge, who doesn’t try to force out of him things he doesn’t have, somebody who lets him be free. Free. Tired. Sad. But free.  
Sitting in his car, in his company’s parking lot, Even is free to be a person, and not a functioning robot. He turns on the heating, and sinks back into himself.

After what feels like a very long time, and at the same time like seconds, Even opens his eyes. The street lights are dimmer, and the stars shine brighter. It’s a surprisingly mild night, for the season, but the heating is comfortable, like a hug.  
Even turns on the radio. A song starts playing, one he doesn’t immediately recognize. Maybe it’s from the Lion King, the Disney movie: it has a certain rhythm, a certain sound. What hears like african drums, and an uplifting structure. He starts feeling better, almost smiley, until he begins paying attention to the lyrics.

Mh.

When the song ends, Even takes out his phone and types some words into google. He frowns slightly, then copy-pastes the title in youtube, finds somethings, presses play. Yes, it’s that same song.

_SOME NIGHTS by FUN_

_Some nights, I stay up cashing in my bad luck_  
_Some nights, I call it a draw_  
_Some nights, I wish that my lips could build a castle_  
_Some nights, I wish they'd just fall off_

_But I still wake up, I still see your ghost_  
_Oh Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for oh_  
_What do I stand for? What do I stand for?_  
_Most nights, I don't know anymore..._  
_oh woah, oh woah, oh woah oh oh_  
_oh woah, oh woah, oh woah oh oh_

When his phone starts ringing, Even realizes he has been clenching his fists the whole time.  
He looks at the screen. It’s Sonja.

_And that's alright; I found a martyr in my bed tonight  
She stops my bones from wondering just who I am, who I am, who I am  
Oh, who am I? Oh, who am I? mmm... mmm…_

He doesn’t pick up.

_Well, Some nights, I wish that this all would end_  
_Cause I could use some friends for a change_  
_And some nights, I'm scared you'll forget me again_  
_Some nights, I always win, I always win…_

Instead, Even turns on the engine, and slowly drives out of the parking lot, into the not so chilling Oslo night. The stars are still out there, and it feels as if they are trying to guide him somewhere. Sonja would tell him to be rational, and she would be right. She would tell him to drive home, to do some meditation exercises, to maybe take a pill, because he can, even though he is trying a different approach, even though he’s doing intensive psychotherapy, and social rhythm therapy, and cognitive therapy, and so he’s diminished his pill intake, and he’s feeling less confused, more present.  
And more depressed! This is why doctor Åberg has said that it’s OK to take a pill if you feel overwhelmed. And I believe you’re feeling overwhelmed right now. -  
Great, now he’s starting to hear voices, to play weird movies in his mind, movies where Sonja is the villain. Even smiles bitterly. This is unfair, it’s unfair to Sonja and it is to him, and so he stops.  
The road is empty and never-ending in front of him, and he feels the urge to keep driving into the unknown, but he turns left instead, and parks in an empty corner.  
The phone is still ringing, the screen still flashing blue and yellow.

_I found a martyr in my bed tonight  
She stops my bones from wondering just who I am, who I am, who I am _

Yes, it’s really unfair to Sonja. And to him.  
So he leaves yet another call unanswered, and writes a message instead.

SONJA <3

Don’t worry.  
I’m going to mum.  
Please don’t worry, and stop calling.  
<3 <3 <3 

 

When he arrives home the lights are still on. Pappa is on a work trip to Stockholm. His mother is home, and she opens the door wearing a blue dressing gown, and a smile. Even feels a bit better.

They sit at the kitchen’s table, while he tries to explain what’s going on.  
His mum is looking at him with clear, friendly eyes.  
\- OK -, she says. - I think it’s a good idea. -  
\- You do? - Even is embarrassed that he’s so surprised by his mum being supportive of his decision. She has always been more than supportive, more than helpful. He should have known.  
But she isn’t angry, or saddened by his surprise. She just smiles even more warmly.  
\- Love, just because you’re bipolar it doesn’t mean that you have no right to feel sad, or happy. You do, like all of us. So if you’re unhappy now, and stressed, take a break. Your job has been insane lately, hasn’t it? -  
\- Yes. - Even answers with a small voice, and he’s horrified by the tears that start filling up his eyes. But his mum just moves her chair closer, and holds his hand.  
\- Sonja loves you, she really does: but love isn’t always enough. Love is the first step, and then others must come. And … - his mum now stops briefly, she stumbles upon her own words, and Even presses her hand to let her know he’s listening, that he trusts her. So she continues.

\- I don’t want to sound like the evil mother-in-law, you know… I like Sonja, and she has been amazing these years, but you, both of you deserve to be happy. And I think both of you need a break from each other. -  
Breaks always end up in breakups, though. - Even almost chokes on his words, and then feels something like nausea at the pitch of his stomach. What’s going on? Didn’t he feel so relieved at the idea of getting rid of Sonja, a mere ten minutes ago?

_I found a martyr in my bed tonight_

\- Well, this is not true. There are no rules when it comes to people, to relationships. We aren’t robots, after all. - This makes Even raise his head abruptly, and his mother cups his jaw and makes him raise his face, so that they’re looking eye to eye. - Even, you and Sonja both deserve to be free. Love, real love, only blooms in freedom. Believe me. -  
\- I do. I believe you. - He does. It’s himself he doesn’t believe in.  
\- OK! - His mum smiles. - So, are you leaving now, or would you rather stay the night here? -

He stays, and he calls Sonja.  
\- Hej. -  
\- Hej. - Sonja’s voice is uncharacteristically dry, and Even feels like shit. But he’s in his childhood room now, sitting on his old battered Ikea couch, right under the big white Ikea bed, and he can see shadows and ghosts of his past self, of that frail boy he used to be. A frail boy Even didn’t manage to protect. A frail boy who tried to stop it all, to get rid of his life at 17, because he had no hope, because he was disgusted by himself, because everything was crushing over him and he had no strength.  
Even sees the boy’s ghost, his own ghost, the ghost of his teenager years, and he realizes he owes himself something else. He owes that boy to try and go on, to really chase happiness. He has been brave so far, he has gotten better, he has kept the demons at bay, but the work isn’t finished. The work to feeling better will never be finished. And he owes it to himself to keep going.  
\- Sonja, we should really take a break. I don’t want to be living a lie. I am frustrated and feel alone, and I need time. -  
Sonja remains silent for a while, and Even could swear he hears a faint sob, and he feels even shittier than before. He almost takes everything back, but before he can, Sonja speaks.  
\- I understand. And I agree with you. -  
\- You do? -  
\- Yes. I am becoming somebody I don’t like, Even. I still like you, I still love you so much… - She chokes, but keeps talking. - But I don’t like myself when I am with you, and this is not how a relationship should be. Love should turn you into the better version of yourself, you know? -  
\- Yes, I know. - Except that the only really better version of Even would be one without bipolar, and for that he should manage to go into another universe, an alternate reality. God, he’s just decided that he wants to try and get better, and now he’s already contradicting himself. God.  
\- But I love you. - Sonja is crying now. - I really do. I really did. You really were the best thing to have happened to me, when we were at Bakka. You really were. -  
\- Sonja… -  
\- Goodbye Even. Please don’t call me for a while, OK? -  
The phone is suddenly silent, and Even is crying. He should feel relieved, but he just keeps crying. He curls up on the sofa, and when sleep finally catches him, his eyes are still full of tears. 

 

When he wakes up, the light is still grey and faint. The sun is up, but it must be right after dawn. Even moves slowly, his head heavy and feeling like it’s almost breaking in two. He tries to sit up, but he feels dizzy, and so he lies back down, even if his back aches. Sleep hasn’t been resting.  
He still has the metallic taste of tears on his tongue, and his heart feels at the same time too heavy, and too empty.  
He turns to the little side table, where his old radio is, fat and yellow, with a miniature anagogic clock that indicates it’s thirty past eight.  
He presses the On button, out of desperation, and the radio starts buzzing, and a song starts playing.

_BABY CAN I HOLD YOU by TRAY CHAPMAN_

_Sorry_  
_Is all that you can't say_  
_Years gone by and still_  
_Words don't come easily_  
_Like sorry like sorry_

_Forgive me_  
_Is all that you can't say_  
_Years gone by and still_  
_Words don't come easily_  
_Like forgive me forgive me_

_But you can say baby_  
_Baby can I hold you tonight_  
_Maybe if I told you the right words_  
_At the right time you'd be mine_

_I love you_  
_Is all that you can't say_  
_Years gone by and still_  
_Words don't come easily_  
_Like I love you I love you_

_But you can say baby_  
_Baby can I hold you tonight_  
_Maybe if I told you the right words_  
_Ooh, at the right time you'd be mine…_

-This was Tracy Chapman, you guys! - A too bright, too merry voice breaks through the silence, and almost hurts Even ears. Even cringes, but he keeps listening. He’s too weak to bother, and hearing a voice, any human voice, helps keeping the monsters at bay, like the ones telling him he shouldn’t have called Sonja, that it was a mistake, that he’s a loser loser loser, that he’s going to regret this forever.  
\- Don’t you like it, when a very sad song starts playing in the early morning, and you can feel sorry about yourselves? Yes gals and guys, this is your Eskild giving you permission to whine! -  
Eskild, yeah. Eskild Tryggvason, he runs a popular radio program. “Kollektivet”. Even works in PR and one of his colleagues has worked with Eskild.  
In the meantime, the voice on the radio keeps talking. Eskild keeps filling up the void with his cheerful voice, and Even turns the volume up.  
\- Are there any baby gays listening? Are there? Yes yes I can see you, I can see your raised hands. Well, I’m going to tell you a story. OK. Ahem. A long time ago, when I was still a student at UiO, one night I went to a gay bar. It wasn’t the best of nights, no. I was a bit lost, a bit sad, thinking of my ex boyfriend, I had just broken up with him… -  
Even starts to listen more attentively.  
\- Yes, and this song, the song I’ve just played, it started playing in my head. 

  
_Maybe if I told you the right words  
Ooh, at the right time you'd be mine…_

-So I was in this bar, drinking, and then I saw a stray kitten. Yes, a kitten. It was small and very nervous, and looked very sad, even sadder than me. So I tried to pet it, but you know cats, it scratched me. So I thought, dear grumpy kitten, I’m leaving you alone, OK. But the kitten looked really sad, and how can you resist a tiny, sad, grumpy kitten? So I picked it up, ignored the scratches, and brought it home. -  
Even smiles: he can picture the stray kitten in his head. A light brown kitten, all green eyes and pointed ears.  
\- The kitten wasn’t very needy. It only wanted somewhere to sleep, and some food. I’m afraid I must admit I didn’t feed it with fresh salmon, but with canned tuna. -  
If I had a kitten, thinks Even, I would buy it fresh milk and cream, and maybe even cook for it. Maybe some soft pancakes. Do kittens like pancakes?  
\- But the kitten started to get better anyway, and even if it rolled its eyes at me very, very often… -  
Even laughs out loud. It’s as if the kitten were in front of him now, with a grumpy, I’m-over-this-useless-shit-of-yours expression on its face.  
\- … even if it was always very grumpy, it was also affectionate. Maybe he became affectionate because I bought him a lavender scented basket to sleep in. And with time we became friends. As much as you can befriend a kitten. So, baby gays out there, sad baby gays out there, I guess I’ve told you this story to give you hope. Yes, baby gays, there’s hope. If you ever feel like a stray kitten out there in this ugly cruel world, know that some very handsome, very nice, very sexy angel is there, somewhere, ready to help you. Maybe you’ll find this angel in a gay bar, but I admit this is the most rare scenario. But maybe the angel is one of your classmates, the guy who works with you at Kaffebrenneriet, your weird school doctor. So keep your eyes open for this angel, remember that angels are good at disguising themselves. - I mean, I am the exception to the rule, an angel who looks like an angel. - somebody coughs in the studio, and Even laughs again.  
\- Ok, ok, Noora - Eskild continues, - I know, I’m wrapping this up. So baby gays, and baby pans and baby lesbians, and baby heteros, all of you out there, my friends: once you grow up, and you become a handsome, nice and sexy angel yourself, be sure to help as many stray kittens you can in return. -  
Even is still laughing, but he’s also crying a bit.  
\- And now, let’s go on, let’s play a happy song to balance all this crap I’ve just told you. I don’t want the network to fire me! So, let’s listen to our queen Gabrielle and her Nattergal! Enjoy! -

When his mum knocks at the door, Even dries up his tears with his sleeve, jumps up, opens, and takes her into the tightest embrace he can muster.  
Don’t worry, I’ll be alright. -  
I know -, she says, and she hugs him tight in return.


	2. Once you see it, it's unforgettable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even has taken a break from work, and decides to just drive for a bit, and see where the road takes him. Apparently, it's to a small village close to the Swedish border, where Isak Valtersen, Eva Mohn and Vilde Hellerund are the main act of a very uncool Off theatre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isak makes his appearance, and there are some other familiar faces too :)

Even ends up driving all day. He doesn’t know where he is headed: he has an image in mind, but it’s vague, and he’s letting his instinct decide. He’s not manic, nor heading towards mania, and it’s a liberating feeling, letting go of his self-control this way when he is neither winter nor summer, neither sunshine nor storm, just somewhere in the middle, a bit of clouds and maybe a hint of rain, and no luscious rose gardens nor a barren wasteland, but little yellow flowers in bloom. 

He stops at a cafe in a small town along the road, quite close to the Swedish border, and he orders a very hot chocolate and a slice of cake. He is the only customer, and the place is dimly lit, but not in an unpleasant way.  
While he’s waiting, Even concentrates on his breathing. In and out. In and out. So far, so good. He takes out his diary and takes a few quick notes. Mood: good, a tiny bit anxious. Food: salmon sandwich and salad, and now cake. Drinks: water, hot chocolate. Tiredness level: average. Even re-reads his notes and makes an additional note for tomorrow: eat more fruit.  
He looks up at the sky outside through the window. It’s a darker hue of blue already. A flock of birds make their way to the woods, while somewhere not far there’s the humming sound of a dishwasher. Even feels the world envelope him, with no sharp edges, while his thoughts flutter around, from noticing the cracks in the wooden floor, to admiring the way the candle on his table produces tiny shadows out of the glass it’s buried into.  
\- Focus -, Sonja would say, if she were here now. She always worries that he’s drifting away somewhere far, somewhere he can’ reach her.  
But Sonja isn’t here now, and here isn’t Oslo. Thank god.  
Even looks at his watch: it’s four, he would still be at the office now, making his way through schedules and stress and hasty customers and a frustrated boss. He smiles. There’s nothing of the kind awaiting him right now, nothing he has to force himself to walk up to, and it’s the best feeling. He sinks into it, until something pokes him sharply. He still hasn’t canceled next week’s therapy appointment. He takes out his phone, and stares at it for the longest minute. No, he can’t bring himself to do it now. What if she’s going to convince him to go back?Until he’s settled somewhere he isn’t going to call. He puts the phone away and exhales. He feels a bit proud of himself, he didn’t let anxiety grip him: but he pats his jacket breast pocket, for reassurance. Yes, his pills are still there. - Just in case -, Sonja would say. Just in case Even freaks out. 

He’s startled by a young waiter, face full of freckles, suddenly appearing at his shoulder, bringing his chocolate, and a huge slice of cake, covered in cream. Even eats and drinks slowly, savoring the food. In the daily chaos of Oslo he had completely forgotten that it’s possible to live like this, to take your time with things, however small and mundane they might be.  
The bartender is a man in his forties, with a strong jaw and kind eyes. He waves at Even when their eyes meet, and Even waves back. So the man dries his hands on the towel hanging over the sink, and goes to sit with Even, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.  
\- Hej -, the man says.  
\- Hej -, Even answers. And then, before he can reign himself in, he starts to blabber. - I’m traveling. I’m escaping the city for a bit -. He immediately regrets it. Why would the man care?  
But the man nods, an understanding smile on his broad face. - Oslo? -  
\- Yeah. -  
\- I only go there once or twice a year, couldn’t do more. I have lived long enough in London, you know, when I was younger. - The man looks at Even more intently. - Have you got any plans, or are you on a road trip? - He says it without a hint of mockery, as if they were in some motel in America, along the route 66, and not in a tiny bar, in a tiny village in western Norway. He has a kind, warm voice.  
\- Well, actually, no. -  
\- Uhm. - The man appears to be weighing Even in, but again, not unkindly. - What do you do in Oslo, if I may ask? Are you a student? -  
\- No, well, I work in PR. Mostly with actors. -  
\- Ah. Must be crazy shit. -  
\- Sometimes, yeah. Especially when they’re young. -  
\- Tiresome, too, uh? But do you like the whole acting business, like, movies and stuff? -  
\- Yes, I do. - Even loves contemporary theatre, the weirder the better, and old fashioned musicals, but he stops himself before he starts flooding the man with information again.  
But the man startles him by slapping his thigh loudly. - Then you are in the right place tonight. -  
\- OK? -  
If he notices Even’s awkardness, the man doesn’t show it. Maybe the city has been really bad on him, Even thinks. He can’t deal with people being kind anymore.  
\- There’s a theatre in the next town -, the man says. - I mean, it used to be a church but it’s now a theatre, you know, and there’s something on tonight. - He stands up and rummages in his trousers’ back pocket, and fishes out a crumpled piece of paper. - Yes, “off theatre Vinger.” Tonight they’re showing “Who we are behind the door”, written by Hellerund Mohn Valtersen, choreography by Mohn, music by Hellerund and Valtersen. - The man is beaming proudly. - It’s a very modern piece, very modern. -  
Even smiles, weakly, but there’s a shiver running down his spine. He has watched his fair share of horrible contemporary theatre dance performances and has had to cringe through them painfully. But he can’t let the man down, not when he’s so enthusiastic about this. Maybe some relatives of him are taking part in it. Well, maybe it won’t be that bad.  
\- We can go there together -, the man is saying, - I’m closing anyway. -  
Even tries to give him his best smile.  
\- And there’s a house in that village, I’m sure it’s empty, the owner rents it out with Air B&B, but he’s a friend, I’ll give him a call and you can definitely stay there for the night, and longer, if you wish. -  
Even has no intention to stay anywhere for a while now, but he doesn’t say it. Instead, he thanks the bartender warmly. He has to sleep somewhere tonight, it might as well be in the man’s friend’s house.  
\- I’ll give him a call right away. - The bartender leaves Even alone. 

He’s a nice guy. Even realizes that part of the reason why he left Oslo was that, between his job and Sonja, he never had space for any unpredictability in his life. Well, mania aside. But that’s not freedom, mania is the tightest chains, it doesn’t count. No, the unpredictability he craves is some kind of serendipity, a door open into the unknown, a possibility. Something that escapes control, and that he doesn’t need to control because it’s not dangerous, it’s not harmful.  
So maybe he should relax now, and be grateful for having met this guy, and even if the theatre thing really sucks, it will be interesting anyway. Hell, it’s interesting that they have an off theatre in such a remote place, that’s a reason enough to go and take a look at it.

The church in Vinder is a small wooden building on the side of a river.  
When Even enters there’s already a small crowd sitting on the benches, and he’s quite happy about it. If he can sit in the mid to end row he’ll be able to sneak out without being rude to the bartender, whose name is Tarjei, and old fashioned viking name that suits him very well. When Even tells him so, the bartender laughs.  
\- If you had seen me at 16… I was scrawny and looked like a 12 year old tops! A 12 year old _girl_! -

So Even and Tarjei are now inside the church, and Even sees to empty seats in the second to last row; but Tarjei starts waving frantically to somebody in the front.  
\- Look, it’s Magnus! Come, Even, we’re getting first row sits, like VIPs! -  
Even smiles politely, and they make their way to the front, and walk up to this Magnus guy.  
He’s tall and blonde, with broad shoulder and a broader smile. He and Tarjei greet with a clumsy fist bump, and when Magnus eyes fall on Even, he smiles even wider.  
\- This is Even. -  
\- Even! Hi dude! - Magnus eyes him up and down. - Are you one of Isak’s friends from the city? -  
\- Ehm, no. - Who is Isak, anyway?  
\- But you are from Oslo, aren’t you? Man, I love Oslo! - Magnus has sparkles in his eyes, and Even is starting to feel warm inside, as if this Magnus guy were hugging him tight.  
\- Yeah, well, it’s pretty nice - , he concedes.  
\- Nice? Just nice? -  
\- Well… -  
\- Gosh, and I thought it was just Isak! He’s always shutting me down about Oslo, but then he’s so grumpy that I ignore him. But may be he’s right? -  
Magnus seems crushed at the idea, and Even feels bad for him, but at the same time he can’t help but side with this grumpy Isak boy. Oslo really isn’t all that. It’s nice, yes, it can be beautiful in the early hours of the morning, or if you look down on it from afar, but it’s also lonely, and grey, and cold. And it’s streets are too full of people, and too empty of smiles. And some nights are lovely, but others are so dark that Even’s heart can’t take it, and he has to do anything, anything he can not to be alone…  
He snaps back from his thoughts because Magnus is tugging at his sleeve and wearing the most distressed expression on his face.  
\- Even, please don’t tell Isak I said he’s grumpy! Please! -  
Grumpy Isak conjures a certain image on Even’s mind, but he can’t pinpoint it.  
\- OK - he says, placating Magnus, - I promise. But it’s not like I know him… -  
\- Oh, you will. There are so few people under thirty here that we all know each other. -  
Even would like to say that he’s just here for the one night, but suddenly the lights go dim, and Magnus grabs his arm and almost throws him to the bench.  
\- You’re gonna love it! - Magnus says, a bit too loudly, and somebody shushes him.

When the piece begins, the stage is lit in harsh white light. A boy is sitting inside a black square drawn on the floor. He is alone, a defeated look on his face, his shoulders rigid, his hands playing with a black snapback. He is wearing a white t-shirt that is making him glow, and he is very beautiful. The light runs over his features, his high cheeks, the perfect nose, his long lashes, his cupid bow. Soft blonde curls cover his ears, and they must be amazing to touch.  
But it’s the boy’s sadness that makes Even want to run on stage and hug him, hug him tightly and tell him everything will be alright.  
And the actor hasn’t spoken a single word yet.

When he does, his voice is strong enough to carry through the church’s hall, and up to the ceiling: a true theatrical voice. But it’s also coming off at the seams, as if the boy were struggling to control himself. He’s speaking to an invisible person. As he keeps speaking, Even understands that it’s a girl, and that she has a crush on the boy. The actor is making her come to life, filling up the negative space with his acting, conjuring the girl like a magician. Even can see her, lithe and strong and eager; and he can feel the boy’s desperation, underneath his coolness, his game. Because the boy has game. He plays easily with the girl’s attraction for him, not in a mean way, Even decides, but still, it’s quite clear that he isn’t interested. However, it’s still not clear why.

One by one other characters come on stage, all of them invisible, all of them made visible by the actor’s terrific talent. Isak, that must be him, has a gift. Even can see it, everybody can see it: there not a word being spoken among the public, everybody have their eyes fixed on the stage. Everybody is living in the world Isak is creating.  
After a while, another flesh-and-bones character appears. It’s a blonde girl, and Isak calls her Vilde: and it’s evident that Vilde and Isak don’t get along.  
She talks in a high pitched voice, and acts like the average bubbly blonde: but there’s an undercurrent of pain, and Even’s heart breaks a little for her. He can see the signs, because hiding his pain is what he does every second of his life. Hiding the pain and presenting a harmless, happy facade. He isn’t like Isak, who hides the darkness by being detached and cool: Even is like Vilde, over-acting the part of a happy person, desperately trying to make everybody love him, to be one of the hip crowd, to be accepted.  
Before he can realize it, Even’s eyes fill with tears.  
Hello, self-pity, he thinks bitterly. But it’s the acting of Vilde and Isak that has stirred something in him, and this makes Even feel a bit better about his tears. He feels less alone.  
He is not sitting in the public anymore, he’s up there, on stage with Vilde and Isak and all the others, and he knows they are like him, they are broken like him. Imperfect like him. Not like Sonja and Mikael and Mutta and all the others, so perfect in their normalcy. No, Vilde and Isak have seen the monsters, too. They are of Even’s kin.

The rest of the piece has Even on a rollercoaster. It’s nothing new, for him, to feel so intensely, to be moved so much by things: the world always reaches deeply inside of Even, for better or for worse. But this time he’s not alone. His feelings aren’t his alone. 

Finally, the last scene comes. Isak is sitting on the ground, again, inside a black rectangle. This time, though, the light is green and blue and soft, like some underwater light. Isak is relaxed, his shoulders low, his chin high, and he’s smiling. His eyes wander, until they meet Even’s, and they stop there. Even’s breath hitches, and he instinctively retreats, but Isak doesn’t break eye contact, and he doesn’t stop smiling.  
\- You see me -, he says. - You see all of me. And yet, you’re here, and you’re not going away, you are not going anywhere. -  
\- No -, Even mutters, and he could swear Isak’s lips are upturned into a smile; but that’s when Vilde enters the stage, and she sits downs some feet apart from Isak, inside another black square painted on the ground, and Vilde’s square shares a side with Isak’s. The lights goes golden, and Vilde is saying the same words as Isak, and now Eva arrives. She dances between Isak and Vilde, touching them, with every touch they get closer to the wall that separates them. At last they are sitting back to back, but still in separate places: and that’s when Eva settles between them, and she paints the wall white. She opens a door into the black wall. Now the two rooms aren’t separated, they’re connected.  
\- It’s simple, maybe a bit childish: but the way Isak and Vilde shiver when the wall disappears, the way the turn slowly, finally looking each other in the eye; the way they touch each other, softly, until they embrace each other, is so powerful. It’s like nothing Even has ever seen in Oslo, or anywhere else.  
He doesn’t even notice when the piece is over, and the lights go back on, and the public starts clapping frantically.

Magnus and Tarjei the bartender disappear somewhere in the crowd, probably greeting their friends. Even goes in the opposite direction, instead, to the backstage. He doesn’t stop to think, he just goes. He has to go.  
Now that the magic is over, the church reveals itself for being one of the crappiest theaters ever. The backstage is nothing more than a narrow corridor that ends with a black door. That’s the only way they could have gone, so Even rushes to open it, and lo and behold, there they are. Isak Vilde and Eva are there, and they are kneeling beside three bikes, unlocking them from the rack.  
Even hesitates just a second, and then he coughs, as loud as he can.  
Nothing.  
He coughs again, and Vilde raises her head. She sees him, and she frowns.  
\- You shouldn’t be here -, she says, disapprovingly. - You can’t be here. It’s against the rules. You should go back inside. -  
\- Hi -, says Even instead. - I can’t believe what I’ve just watched. It was… it was incredible. - He would kick himself for sounding so lame. His voice even cracks a little, great. Great, after years in PR, squealing like a twelve year old.  
Vilde, in fact, seems very uninmpressed, and actually shrugs. Eva and Isak are outright ignoring him.  
Even is a bit hurt by this, but then, he’s probably being a nuisance, well, this wouldn’t be surprising. Maybe they’ve noticed him, crying and laughing and making a spectacle of himself in the front row. Even blushes, and bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check. He should at least try to be cool and smooth. At least. Try.  
\- I work for Polhem Oslo -, he offers, but his words are met with silence. So he pushes further. - I work for a PR agency, we work with actors, mostly, and I would love to represent you. - What? Oh, shit. He has spoken again without thinking. And the words keep flooding out of him, he can’t stop them. - We are the biggest agency in Norway, and you guys are among Norway’s best, I mean, this is absolutely clear. You reached me, and I can tell you would do the same with any audience, and my agency would make sure that every audience in Norway can watch you perform. Maybe even on TV? - Well, if this ain’t desperate.  
For a moment, nothing happens. Then, it’s the boy, it’s Isak who raises his head.  
The girls are walking their bikes to the main road, looking straight ahead. But Isak is giving Even his attention, and frowning.  
He does look grumpy, Magnus was right. He also looks impatient, and annoyed, and as if he were looking at Even out of pure contempt. So Even panics, under that gaze. He panics, and at the same time giving up isn’t an option, so he fishes inside his breast pocket, and thankfully finds his card.  
He then tucks it in Isak’s own pocket, and Isak gives out a snort.  
\- Look - Even says, smoothing his hair with his hand and grinning in what he hopes is a confident way, - I’m not here to force anything upon you. But what I’ve seen tonight was magical. And I work in the field. So do take my offer into consideration. I’m Even, by the way. -  
Even reaches out his hand, still smiling. Isak blinks twice. All the time his eyes haven’t looked into Even’s face, he’s kept them somewhere left of Even’s head, but now he is making eye contact, and Even shivers. He fucking shivers. Adieu, coolness.  
Isak blinks again, then looks down at Even’s hand, that Even’s still holding towards him, being very pathetic, Even thinks. So he lowers it.  
In that exact moment Isak coughs, and Even jumps startled. Should he pat Isak on his back? Has he got a cold? Should he try to keep a professional facade and not let himself be all over the place? Isak coughs again, and then, so quickly that Even almost misses it, he steps ahead and grabs Even somewhere between his palm and his wrist.  
\- Isak -, he says, and then he’s jumps on the bike, and before Even can say anything he’s rushing towards the girls.  
However, when Isak reaches the gate to the road he stops in his tracks and raises his hand in what looks like a greeting, and Even waves back.  
So when he notices something white and small leaving Isak’s hand and landing on the pavement, it’s too late for Even not to make a fool of himself.  
Even reaches the gate in long strides, and sees something on the floor.  
It’s his card.  
Even raises his head. If he squints his eyes, he can still see the back light of Isak’s bike, bright red in the dark. He should be angry: but a laugh is bubbling in his chest instead. He has found it. That elusive it. Talent’s sparkle. The one thing he could never find in any of the people he worked with at the agency, now he has it within reach, and it’s exhilarating.  
Even inhales, and this time it’s not to get rid of his anxiety, it’s not to control his mood. He inhales and exhales and he feels as if the world makes sense again. It wasn’t an illusion. The magic of theatre is there even when the cameras are off, even if nobody is filming and posting on social media, even when it’s only the actors and some 50 people who give a damn, even if the actors are three kids in their twenties who ride bikes in the countryside.  
Even picks up his card, but doesn’t pocket it. He crumples it between two long fingers instead, and this is how Magnus and Tarjei find him, a couple of minutes later.  
\- Hey man are you OK? - says Tarjei.  
\- Have you met Isak and the others? - says Magnus.  
\- I like it here - says Even, - it’s much better than Oslo. -  
Magnus high fives him, and Tarjei laughs.

****

Somewhere in the small town, not that far from Even Tarjei and Magnus, Isak is cycling ahead of Vilde and Eva, ignoring Vilde’s remarks and at the same time trying to ignore the way his cheeks burn, maybe from irritation, maybe from something else.

****

\- Hey everyone, it’s Eskild speaking, yes, the one and only. Aren’t you lucky to have me on your radio? Yes, Noora, they are. I can say it, it's true. Guys, Noora is giving me a scary look, she wants me to be humble, but there's no point when we all now you all love me and I'm your guru. Your favourite radio host and your guru. Anyhow, we're here to play music, and I've chosen a lovely cheesy and uncool song, exactly what I need tonight. And I'm sure there's more than one of you out there listening who needs it too. Are you ready? make sure to sing along during the chorus!

_TO THE DREAMERS by FOR KING AND COUNTRY_

_Beat up but won't be broken_  
Lonesome but always searching  
Homesick but nobody's heading home soon  
Keep on, keeping on, keeping on 

_Long days; too many short nights_  
Wrong ways that almost felt right  
Lovesick but no one you're holding on to  
So keep on, keeping on, keeping on  
And sing along, sing along, sing along... Yeah 

_To the dreamers_  
Wide-eyed believers  
Hanging onto hope by a thread  
To the soulful  
Heart open hopeful  
Keep on charging ahead  
'Cause, when you feel it, once you see it, and you breathe it  
It's unforgettable  
When you know it, once you know it, and you hold it  
It's unforgettable  
… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please bear in mind that I'm basing Even's way of dealing with his m.i. on my personal experience, and on my personal experience only.  
> I hope you've liked it! thank you for reading it
> 
> [tumblr](http://dandelionstories.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr if you want to talk about writing, life, skam...
> 
> dandelionstories.tumblr.com


End file.
